


Lost in Cokeworth

by maraudersaffair



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Divorce, Legilimency, Light Angst, M/M, Past Relationship(s), Snarry-A-Thon18
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-20
Updated: 2018-04-20
Packaged: 2019-04-23 10:21:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14330403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maraudersaffair/pseuds/maraudersaffair
Summary: After his divorce, Harry moves to Cokeworth to salvage his mum’s childhood home. Severus Snape offers to help in more ways than one.





	Lost in Cokeworth

**Author's Note:**

> A big thanks to my beta!
> 
> Prompt #91: Harry purchases his mother's childhood home after his divorce and keeps bumping into Severus around town.

The day Harry signed his divorce papers he placed his wand inside a drawer and thought, _I don’t need you anymore_.

He was in Cokeworth; he’d been living in his mother’s old family home, not going out, mostly hiding. The house was a disaster; it reminded him of Grimmauld Place, but Muggle. It reminded him of the war. He liked it. 

What he didn’t like was all the dust. It made chalk of his throat; it made his eyes water down his face. There were spells, countless spells for these symptoms, but he pretended not to know them. He went to Boots and walked the gleaming aisles for a pill or a spray. Anything the Dursleys would’ve kept in their toilet. He settled on squishy green pills that made a long list of promises and followed through on none of them. Still he didn’t reach for his wand.

Fall turned into winter. He survived Christmas. He ate whisky cake from a tin on the sofa and ignored every _Happy Christmas!_ owl he received. The Weasleys didn’t ask him around, which was to be expected. Hermione and Ron were on holiday in France. He was _fine_. Really. No need to worry.

A few days before the New Year, he went to an old café for a cup of coffee and a chicken and cucumber sandwich. The walls were stained with grease, the carpets threadbare with ends curling up like a swatted spider. He had to scrape bits of dried food off the back of his spoon. The coffee was hot and strong; he added a long stream of sugar and a touch of milk. His mouth loosened up. He watched the Muggles.

They were working class. They’d be factory people if there were still factories. Swollen knuckles. Monotone one-liners. Nighttime telly depression. The men wore patched up jumpers, the women thick wool skirts. Harry liked watching them. His mum had known them.

The door opened and a man was swept in with the wind. His black hair blew about his face and for a moment Harry didn’t recognize him. Harry blinked. It was Severus Snape.

Snape caught sight of him and stiffened. Surprise, then some dark emotion, flitted across his features. Perhaps he was angry. Harry smiled without really thinking about it. Sod the past. Sod the war. Harry was done with having grudges. What was the point of nursing bad feelings when everything could blow up in his face? Divorce had softened him up.

Snape stared. He came closer but then stopped. The waitress behind the counter spoke to him. He seemed to not hear her.

“Want your usual, Snape?” she said.

Snape moved closer again. He clutched at one of the stools. His expression was very dark. Harry widened his smile, and he knew his eyes glittered behind his glasses. Snape turned around and left the café.

“What a piece of work,” the waitress muttered, then looked at Harry. “Want more coffee?”

“Ta,” Harry said, and pushed his cup forward. He sipped his coffee and thought about Snape. They were neighbors. Somehow this had never occurred to him. He didn’t imagine Snape returning to his childhood home after the war. He imagined Snape would want to get as far away from his past as possible.

*

Harry’s attraction to men didn’t break up his marriage. He would always want to shag Ginny, but sexual desire couldn’t make up for all the months of separation and long, frustrated silences. He didn’t know what to say to Ginny; he didn’t trust her to understand. She gritted her teeth when the Quidditch commentators called her _Mrs Potter_. She’d never taken his name.

No, the divorce was good. It was right. He distracted himself by sleeping with men. Young fit men with bad teeth and casual drinking problems. They were Muggle and laughed at his lightning bolt scar. _Weird_ , they’d say before stuffing their mouths with his cock. God. _Yes._

Sex was fun. Invigorating. He still woke up alone. He still reached over and expected to feel her warmth. He was okay. He was fine. He was happy, or he was about to be happy. Happiness was right in front of him, and all he had to do was go after it.

It was New Year’s Eve. He didn’t have any plans. He bought some beer and a sledgehammer. He would demolish the downstairs toilet by hand.

At nine he began the hammering. He took out the yellowing sink, ripped down all the ugly floral wallpaper. He imagined doing the same in the Dursleys’ lounge and Petunia screeching at him to stop. He gulped down two beers in record time; all the physical activity made him thirsty and it was _New Year’s_. Being pissed was practically a requirement.

The fun ended when he aimed the hammer at the rim of the toilet and hit the fingers on his other hand instead. He howled and dropped the hammer. Christ! He cradled his hand, too afraid to look at the damage. His fingers were definitely broken. 

He needed his wand. He stumbled to his bedroom and banged into every piece of furniture on his way to the bedside table. His hand was shaking too hard to even cast _Lumos_. Christ. He had to take himself to hospital. Just great. What a way to begin his first full year of single life!

He left his room and staggered down the creaking stairs. The house was a good hundred years old and hadn’t been inhabited since the death of his grandparents in the seventies. The rotten parts of the stairs felt like putty on his heels.

He gently shouldered on his coat and a scarf. Outside contained snow flurries and flickering streetlights. The cold felt good on his pounding hand. He made it down the first street before pausing. Should he go to St Mungo’s or brave Muggle hospital? He’d be left alone around Muggles, but it might take ages for them to repair his hand. Ugh. St Mungo’s it was.

“What’s wrong with your hand?”

Harry looked up and, remarkably, Snape stood in front of him. He held a brown paper bag. 

“I’m pretty sure I broke my fingers.”

“What are you doing out here? Get home and fix them.”

Harry laughed. The situation was just too ridiculous. “I already tried that. I need help. I was headed to St Mungo’s.”

Snape snorted. “No need. I can help you.”

“Are you sure?” Harry held out his hand to Snape. “They’re in bad shape.”

Snape gently raised them closer to his face. “Yes, they are broken, but I can still help. If you want.”

“Oh, I want,” Harry said, and laughed again. He was definitely drunk. Snape’s shoulders became spiky. 

“I need to drop off my purchases. Do you mind?”

“Lead the way.” 

They turned onto another street and came to a stop at a door that looked like every other door in the neighborhood. Harry’s heart pounded. Was Snape really going to let him into his home?

“Please come in,” Snape said, holding open the door. Harry stepped inside and was amazed at how ordinary it looked. The lounge was plain with rickety furniture and a collapsing sofa. Of course books lined nearly every wall. They went into the kitchen, and Harry had to suppress a snort. It was all yellow counters and paisley curtains.

“You can thank my grandmother,” Snape said. He pulled out a bottle of wine and some delicious smelling bread from the bag.

“On your mum’s side?”

“No, my father’s.”

Harry examined a towel with a hideous smiling sun. “I’m surprised your mum allowed it.”

“She had no choice.”

“But you didn’t change it.”

“No, I didn’t.” 

Harry nodded. He held up his broken fingers to the faint overhead lamp; his knuckles were swollen and already turning purple. Snape muttered something and suddenly Harry was illuminated in bright white light. It felt as though he was on the examination table. 

Snape took off his large black coat; it’d looked so much like robes that Harry hadn’t even realized he was wearing Muggle attire. Underneath he wore a white shirt and trousers. He rolled up the sleeves and raised Harry’s injured hand to eye level.

“I have much experience tending to injuries,” he said quietly.

“I know,” Harry said, thinking about when Snape had saved Malfoy after their confrontation in the toilet. “I trust you.”

Snape snorted, but something in his body relaxed. He moved a little closer. “How did this happen?”

“Oh,” Harry said, and laughed. He knew what he was about to say would sound mad. “I was remodeling the toilet with a sledgehammer and my aim slipped.”

“A sledgehammer?” Snape stared at him.

“Ah . . . yeah. I haven’t been using my wand lately.”

Snape seemed speechless. He shook his head, then concentrated on Harry’s hand. His touch was warm, very gentle, and Harry leaned toward him. He caressed his wand over Harry’s fingers, murmuring under his breath. Harry had never felt anything like it. Snape’s magic wrapped over him like a hot compress, then trickled down to mend his poor bones. After a minute or two, he drew his wand up and to the side, and it felt as if he teased the ache from Harry’s muscles. The whole thing was intimate, almost affectionate, and Harry thought: _Christ. Does he actually care?_

When it was all done, Snape dropped Harry’s hand and stepped back. He wouldn’t meet Harry’s gaze. 

“Why aren’t you with your friends tonight?” Snape asked.

Harry flexed his fingers, amazed. They were completely healed. “Ron and Hermione are on holiday. I didn’t want to see anyone else.”

“What about your wife?”

“I thought everybody knew—we’re divorced.”

Snape sliced the bread with his wand. “I avoid the newspapers.”

“Understandable.” Harry hovered, not really knowing what he was doing. “I guess I’ll stop bothering you now. Thanks for my hand.”

“Would you like a glass of wine?”

“Sure,” he said too quickly. Snape poured them some wine. He took the offered glass, and smiled. He had so much he wanted to ask, but he didn’t want to offend.

Again, Snape didn’t meet his eyes. He sipped his wine, his head turned downward. “A sledgehammer . . . how barbaric.” 

Harry shrugged. He gulped his wine. “It was therapeutic and fun.”

“Fun?” Snape snorted. “Doing anything _Muggle_ isn’t fun. It’s tedious. A waste of time.”

“Speak for yourself.”

“Is that why you’re here? To reconnect with your Muggle roots?”

“Yeah, I guess.” Harry swirled his wine in its glass. “What about you?”

“Me?” Snape blinked at him.

“This house . . . I’m surprised you’d want to live here.”

“It’s a good place to hide.” His honesty surprised Harry.

“I guess I’m hiding, too.” Harry finished off his wine, and Snape directed the bottle to refill his glass. “But I also want to help my grandparents’ house. Fix it up. It’s been overlooked for so long.”

Snape scrutinized him; his dark eyes were unreadable. “Don’t you have better things to do?”

“I could ask you the same.” Harry glanced at the cracked tile, the flaying wallpaper. “You are the reason we won the war. Your talents are renowned. Still you choose to spend your days in _Cokeworth_.”

Snape leaned back against the counter. Their elbows almost touched. He seemed strangely relaxed. It was probably the wine. “Maybe I’m tired. Maybe I’ve had enough.”

“Bollocks,” Harry said. “I don’t believe that for a second.”

“How would you know? You don’t know me.”

Harry hesitated. Of course he knew Snape. He knew what drove him, what he considered his biggest mistakes, what made him choke with emotion. 

“What don’t I know about you?”

Snape huffed. _“Everything.”_

The whole conversation was weird, unprecedented. Harry blinked. They were standing very close together, and everything about their body language said _I’m interested_. He looked at Snape, really _looked_ at him, and for the first time he saw a man who’d aged well. Snape took care of himself now. The weight of the war was gone from his body. He seemed more agile; he seemed as though he could actually breathe. His hair was only a little greasy. 

Did he know? He said he avoided the papers, but that didn’t prove anything. Maybe he’d seen Harry with one of his young pulls.

But why should he care? This was the same man who’d been madly in love with his mum. No, no. Harry was reading the situation wrong. He shook his head. He was spending too much time shagging blokes. It was making him _imagine_ things.

Snape stepped away. With a swish of his wand, the wine and sliced bread floated through the door. “Let’s move to the lounge.”

“Yes,” Harry said, and followed him. Snape swished his wand again and a fireplace roared to life. Snape took up a worn armchair, and Harry flopped down on the sofa and gobbled up some of the bread. Snape refilled their glasses. 

“Are you still with the Aurors?” Snape asked.

“God, no,” Harry said. Some of the wine dripped down his chin; he wiped it away with the back of his hand. 

Snape gestured vaguely. “I thought it was your dream profession.”

“It was.” Harry sighed. “I’m just tired of being around . . . cruelty. Murder. Violent crime. That sort of thing.”

“Yes, that’s understandable.” Snape sipped his wine, looking thoughtful. “You should consider teaching.”

 _“What?”_ Harry blinked at him. “You must want me to go mad.”

Snape laughed. _He laughed_. “Perhaps.”

“I’ve considered it . . . I just can’t imagine students overlooking my . . . reputation.” 

Snape shrugged. “Students have a way of surprising you.”

“Except for me.”

“You surprised me. I thought you would never amount to anything. You proved me wrong.”

Harry laughed. It felt good to be torn down a little. “Yes, I’m surprised I amounted to anything, too.” He hesitated. “You surprised me. A great deal. Blew me out of the water, actually.”

“That was the whole point.” Snape smiled faintly. 

“I’m surprised I’m here tonight. I never thought you’d want to help me.”

“Force of habit.”

Harry’s head was swimming nicely. “Sure, but nobody was pressuring you tonight to step in. I know Dumbledore could be quite insistent.”

Snape looked away again. It was hard to tell in the firelight, but his cheeks looked pink from the alcohol. “Albus never forced me to help you,” he said quietly. 

“You wanted me dead initially!”

“Initially. But you weren’t real to me then. You weren’t you.”

“You were so mean to me. I was just a child and you . . . _hated_ me.”

“I had a lot of growing up to do.” Snape worked his mouth, thinking, his shoulders stiff. “I was also under tremendous stress. I suppose you are owed an apology.”

“You suppose?”

“I won the war, didn’t I? You wouldn’t have succeeded without me.”

“Without you, I would’ve died and Riddle would be in power.” Harry had known this for a long time, but it was strange to admit it out loud. 

“Yes.” Snape sucked in a breath. “But let’s not talk about it. I’m sick of the war.”

“That makes both of us!” He laughed and soppily took another drink from his wine. He was pissed. Everything was just smashing. “How have you been spending your time?”

“I brew. I send my creations to customers through the post. Sometimes I even get to experiment.”

“Are you happy?”

Snape blinked at him. “What a stupid question.”

“I just can’t imagine someone enjoying a life like that.”

“I’ve never been happy.”

_“Never?”_

“You’ve seen my memories. At any point did I seem happy?”

“Maybe there was a holiday I don’t know about.”

Snape snorted. He glared into his glass. “My life has been nothing but endless _wanting_. No satisfaction. Always unrequited.”

Harry tried very hard not to flinch. He knew Snape was talking about his mum. He could be an adult about this. “Other women are out there. You should try dating.”

“I don’t want _women_.”

“What do you want?”

“I want a friend. I want loyalty. I want good conversation. I want—” Snape slammed his glass down on the table. He cradled his head. 

“You can have all that. There’s still time.” Harry wanted to go to him. He wanted to run his thumbs over his thin cheeks, his cruel mouth. Christ. He definitely had too much alcohol. 

“We don’t have to talk about this.” Snape straightened back up. He refilled Harry’s glass and stood. “Drink. Relax. I won’t be gone for long.”

Harry nodded. He drank deeply and set his glass on the table. His head lolled a bit. The sofa looked like shit, but it was actually quite comfy. He still couldn’t believe he was here. He couldn’t believe he was having a civil conversation with Snape. The firelight felt so nice. 

When he opened his eyes, Snape was back in his chair. He must’ve dozed off for a few minutes. They stared at each other. They didn’t speak. 

Snape was an attractive bloke. He was ugly but he was also . . . sexy. Harry blinked. Christ. He thought Snape was _sexy_. 

Snape seemed to know the direction of his thoughts. He dropped his eyes momentarily, as if he lost courage. Harry stared at his thighs, his chest, his pale wrists. He wondered what Snape was like in bed. 

He bet Snape would let him suck him off. He’d be too shocked to say no. Harry would drop to his knees between his parted thighs. He’d tease him first, brushing his fingers over Snape’s cock, feeling it grow inside his trousers. Snape would tremble. He’d gape at Harry, his gaze unbelieving, his cheeks flushed.

Snape made a noise in his throat. They were staring into each other’s eyes again. Suddenly, Harry saw Snape swallowing down his cock, practically choking himself. Harry was starkers and Snape kissed his stomach and tongued his nipples. He took Harry’s fingers into his mouth, sucking, as his wet fist worked Harry’s cock. Then his mouth was back on Harry, slurping loudly, bobbing fast. Harry arched his back and came with a shout.

“God,” Harry said. 

Snape tore his eyes away. He stood shakily. He disappeared and came back with pillow and blanket. “You should sleep now.”

“Wait.” Harry tried to reach for him, but Snape avoided his hand.

“Don’t,” Snape said. “I couldn’t bear it if you didn’t mean it.”

“I don’t know,” Harry said distantly. He fell asleep.

*

Harry awoke to an empty house. A pot of coffee and buttered buns waited for him on the table. They were under a stasis charm and still hot. There was also a little bottle of anti-hangover potion and a brief note: _I apologise for leaving before you woke up. Please enjoy your breakfast. Drink the potion. I made it myself. -SS_

It took some time for Harry to eat. He was sluggish; his head pounded. Yes, he’d definitely drunk too much last night. The coffee and buns were very good; he wondered if Snape bought them from a bakery. He knocked back the potion once his stomach was full. He never liked taking potions without eating first. His head cleared immediately and he experienced a rush of energy. Of course Snape made a potion this good. No wonder strangers purchased his creations through the post.

He couldn’t believe Snape trusted him to be alone in his house. There had to be protection spells, maybe even curses. He contemplated casting a few detection spells to find out, but then he realized he didn’t really care. He was over playing detective. Snape could do whatever he wanted.

Harry went home. He continued his work in the toilet but using his wand. He’d learned his lesson. His mind wandered. What the hell had happened last night? He never thought Snape could be so . . . nice. 

When he’d removed the toilet, he turned his attention to the shower. He blasted off the yellowed tiles and Vanished all the dusty debris; he chipped away some of the plaster underneath to make sure no mold was hiding in the bones of the old bath. 

He made himself lunch with leftover chicken and a few slices of cheese. He needed to bathe but he didn’t want to interrupt his work for longer than necessary. It felt good to see the house’s years melt away. He liked a clean slate. He could do anything.

There was a knock on his door. Frowning, he wiped his mouth and went to answer it. On the other side was Snape.

“Hello,” Harry said, startled. 

Snape’s expression was blank. He said, “This house needs all the help it can get. I offer my assistance.”

Harry blinked, not really understanding. “You want to help me . . . renovate?” 

“Yes.” Snape tilted his head. “May I come in?”

“Of course!” Harry stepped back from the doorway. Snape slipped past into the lounge. He stared at the musty furniture, the paper-thin carpet. 

“I never thought I’d see this place again,” Snape whispered.

Uncomfortable, Harry closed the door. He rubbed the back of his neck. “Did you used to pop in when my mum lived here?”

“Yes.” Snape wandered to the fireplace mantel. He squinted at the faded photographs. “Lily loved your great-grandparents. She wouldn’t shut up about them every time they visited.”

Harry flopped down on the sofa. He clasped his hands in his lap. How to say the next part? 

“I don’t want you around if you’re only here for her.”

Snape’s eyes flashed. “I want to help. Does my motivation really matter?”

“When it comes to you? Absolutely.”

Snape snorted. He paced in front of the fireplace. “I can’t believe you still doubt me. After everything I’ve done for you.”

“I don’t doubt your bravery or commitment to Dumbledore! I’d just rather not have you here drooling over my dead mum. If that’s going to be the case, I’d rather just do the work myself.”

“I don’t—! Merlin!” Snape rubbed his temples. “You’re insufferable.”

Harry shrugged. “I’m just speaking the truth.” 

“The _truth_!” Snape laughed cruelly, and it was the first time he was like his old self. “You wouldn’t know the truth if it hit you in the face.”

“Come off it! If you have something to say to me, then say it.”

Snape sucked in a breath. His shoulders slumped. “I’m being honest when I tell you I just want to help.” He paused. “And please—believe me when I say I will not be _distracted_ by my memories.”

“Fine.” Harry headed for the kitchen. “I need to clean up my lunch, then we’ll get started.”

“I’ll wait for you here.”

Harry wanted to object, but forced himself to keep moving. Snape had trusted him enough to leave his house entirely while Harry was still asleep on his sofa; Harry should show the same trust . . . for now. Harry wasn’t convinced that Snape was here purely for his sake, but again: he was done playing detective. 

When he was done in the kitchen, they went up to the en-suite that’d been added in the early seventies. The floor was _carpet_. The toilet and bathtub were a hideous green; the washbasin was stained brown. 

“How do you usually begin?” Snape asked.

“Err . . . I usually just start blasting.”

“Blasting? Is that a Muggle tool?”

“No . . . you made me rethink some stuff. It was stupid that I wasn’t using my wand.”

Snape shook his head. He looked as if he wanted to roll his eyes. “And what about protection? Renovating a house can be physically dangerous.”

“I never considered it.”

“Of course,” Snape muttered. He raised his wand. “Come closer.”

Harry did what he was told. He didn’t know what to expect. Snape nudged his face up with a knuckle under his chin. He stared into Harry’s eyes. 

“May I cast a protection spell on your eyes?” Snape asked. Harry nodded. “Then remove your glasses.”

Harry removed his glasses. He was breathing a bit fast. Snape muttered a spell and a golden haze hovered over Harry’s face, then disappeared. Snape didn’t immediately move away.

Perhaps last night wasn’t a fluke. Perhaps Harry hadn’t imagined it all. He remembered the sudden images in his head. Their intensity. He remembered how Snape had acted afterward. 

“Snape,” Harry said, questioning.

Snape dropped his hand and stepped back. There was a moment of silence. “Shouldn’t you use my first name now? I’m not your professor anymore.”

Harry gulped. “Only if you call me by my first name, too.”

Snape smirked. His gaze was taunting. “Okay, Harry.”

“Brilliant, _Severus_.”

Again, they stared into each other’s eyes. Harry didn’t know what his face looked like, but he felt confused, a little flustered. Snape’s expression was unreadable. Harry looked away; he felt himself flush.

“Have you shut off the water?” Snape asked, sounding smug.

“No. I thought it wasn’t necessary.”

“Why not?”

Harry gestured vaguely. “Because . . . you know . . . magic.” 

“It amazes me how you can move through life without ruining everything you touch,” Snape said. He tapped his wand to the water fixtures and exposed pipes. 

“Now that’s the Snape I remember,” Harry said, laughing.

“No more talking,” Snape said, and then pointed to the vanity. “We’ll start here and then move to the toilet.”

Harry readied his wand. “Fine with me.” They began blasting. Crusty porcelain flew through the air; Snape quickly changed tactics and focused on Vanishing all the debris. Harry was having so much fun he couldn’t breathe. He accidentally hit the mirror above, shattering its bottom right corner. “Fuck!”

“It’s all right!” Snape said loudly. “ _Blast_ that bugger too!” He threw up a shield to protect them from the flying glass.

Harry was making noise. He was grunting, almost growling, as he destroyed the mirror.

“Hurry, now the toilet!”

Harry shot a spell at the toilet’s top, then its bottom. The whole thing crumbled in a heap, filling the room with the stench of rusty water.

Everything just felt so _right_. Who cared about life’s mistakes when things could so easily be removed? All he needed was his wand, some confidence, and Snape yelling in his ear: _“Faster! Hurry! You can do it!”_

Harry turned to Snape, his shoulders heaving. There was color in Snape’s face, and his eyes glittered. Harry surged forward; he wanted to touch Snape; he wanted to kiss him. Instead he shoved Snape hard in the chest. Snape caught himself with a back step. God! Snape was solid. He was _real_. Harry wanted to know his body.

“Let’s stop for today,” Snape said.

“I’m sorry! I wasn’t thinking!”

Snape rubbed his chest. “Don’t do it again.”

Harry nodded. After an awkward pause, they went back down to the first level. Harry motioned to the kitchen. “I could make tea.”

“No, thank you,” Snape said. “I’ll be back tomorrow morning.”

“Okay,” Harry said, still embarrassed. “Again, I’m sorry for putting my hands on you. I was caught up in the moment.”

Snape’s expression flickered. “I’m not insulted. Mistakes happen.”

When Snape left, Harry slumped down on his sofa. He rubbed hard at his face. What the hell was wrong with him?

*

Snape was a frequent visitor in the following days. In the en-suite, he helped Harry chisel out the bathtub and gut the walls. The old insulation smelled rotten. Then they moved to the empty bedrooms. They ripped down the wallpaper and dusty curtains. They pocketed their wands and rolled up their sleeves. They tore up the soiled carpet with their bare hands. Snape gritted his teeth and grunted; sweat spilled down their faces.

They didn’t speak most of the time, but Harry enjoyed Snape’s company. He looked forward to Snape’s arrival in the mornings. They went to that old cafe for lunch. Snape knew all the waitresses.

“I’m surprised you like coming to a place that’s so Muggle,” Harry said.

Snape shrugged. “Their corned beef is good.”

“You don’t mind them, admit it.”

“It’s hard not to blame them for what my father did to me.”

Harry nodded, thinking about the Dursleys. 

One night Snape stayed for dinner. Harry spent a few minutes with his head stuck in his fridge. “I’ve got chicken thighs . . . white wine . . . lemon.”

“Do you have butter? Some onion?”

Harry rummaged some more. It’d been a while since he’d properly gone to the shop. The nearest Tesco was an experience. “Yes . . . but the onion has seen better days.”

“I’m sure it’s salvageable.” Snape took out a knife and a chopping board. “If you clean and season the chicken, I’ll get started on the veg.”

Harry hesitated. “I didn’t know you cooked.”

“I cook all the time.”

“Right,” he muttered. He got to work on the chicken. He sprinkled them with salt and pepper, then dredged them in flour. Snape found an old pot that Harry had scrubbed out and used it to heat the oil. Together they browned the chicken. They took the chicken out to deglaze the pot. They added the onion and some garlic; then came the butter and lemon juice. Snape transfigured water into chicken broth. Soon everything was bubbling. The kitchen smelled delightful.

“What’s next?” Harry asked.

“We put the chicken back to finish up in the sauce.” Snape paused. “Do you have rice?”

There was a knock on his front door. Snape went very still. Harry frowned. “I’m not expecting anyone.” He went to see who it was. 

Ron and Hermione were on the other side. “Surprise!” Hermione held up takeaway.

“You’re back early!” Harry ushered them inside. He was laughing. God, he missed them! “You won’t believe who’s here.”

“Smells like you’re already cooking dinner,” Ron said.

“I hope we’re not interrupting anything!” Hermione said.

They moved to the kitchen before Harry had a chance to warn them. They went quiet when they spotted Snape. Snape looked like he wanted to melt into the floor.

“What’s happened?” Ron turned to Harry. “Did someone die?”

“No! Snape has been helping me renovate the house.”

“Good evening, Professor.” Hermione came closer to place the takeaway on the counter. “How have you been?”

“Very well, Mrs Weasley.” Snape turned off the cooker and wiped his hands. “I see I’m interrupting your reunion. I will go.”

“No, please stay!” Harry said. Ron gaped at him.

Hermione glanced from Harry to Snape. “Yes, please stay. Eat what you were making with Harry; we’ll have the takeaway.”

Harry sniffed the air. “It must be Indian. Can we have some of your rice?”

“Of course.” Hermione went to the cupboard and pulled out four plates. She handed the first one to Snape. 

Sighing, Snape served himself some chicken, then did the same for Harry. Ron and Hermione took off their traveling things and spelled open their takeaway. The wonderful smell of cardamom filled the table. Snape and Harry scooped their servings of rice.

It was awkward. Of course it was awkward. Harry ate slowly. He made sure to smile every time he caught Ron and Hermione’s eyes. He knew Snape was staring at him. Snape probably did it to taunt Ron and Hermione.

The chicken thighs were incredible. Very moist. The lemon was refreshing. 

“So good,” Harry said to Snape. “I had no idea you were a brilliant cook.”

Snape smiled. “I’m brilliant at loads of things.”

Ron gasped, then fell into a coughing fit. He gulped down water as Hermione rubbed his back.

“So, Professor!” Hermione said loudly. “What have you’ve been doing with yourself? I’m pretty sure you don’t work for the Ministry, but maybe I’ve just missed you in the canteen.” 

“ _The Ministry?_ Merlin, no.” He took a few methodical bites of chicken. “I’ve been brewing. Experimenting.”

“Do you have a lab?” Ron said, looking unwillingly interested.

“Of course.”

“Me too. I share it with my brother George. It’s where we try out products.”

Snape nodded. “I hope you’re using Castillo Cauldrons. I’ve found they are the best. Minimal defects. Sturdy. They can handle countless cleaning spells without chipping.”

“Oh . . . thanks. I’ll have George look into them.”

“Snape lives just around the corner from here,” Harry said, then realized Snape might not want Ron and Hermione to know this. Oh well.

Hermione thought for a moment. “Is it your childhood home?”

“Yes.”

She gazed around the kitchen. “Is this where you friended Harry’s mum?”

“Not in this exact spot, but yes.” Snape seemed hesitant but patient. 

“Are you happy to see this house again? I’m sure it holds good memories for you.”

Snape put down his fork. He wiped his mouth. “It does, but most of them are faded now. I’m more interested in the present than the past.”

“That’s great to hear!” Hermione smiled widely. Harry knew that smile. She was floundering.

“Look, you lot don’t need to stay,” Harry said. “I’m sure you want to relax at home after being gone for so long.”

Snape stood. “I’ll return in a moment.” He set off in the direction of the toilet. 

When he was a safe distance away, Ron dropped his fork and whispered harshly, “What the hell, Harry?”

“ _What?_ He’s just been helping me out.”

Hermione worried her bottom lip. “You must know.” Harry blinked at her, which made her blush and glance at Ron. “Well, it seems pretty obvious to us.”

“What are you talking about?” Harry had a feeling he knew, but he wanted to hear her say it.

“Snape wants to shag you!” Ron cried. 

“Oh, you’ve noticed that too?” Harry frowned a little. “There’s been tension between us, but I didn’t know if I was making it up.”

Ron’s mouth fell open. He stared. “Are you saying . . . _you want it?_ ”

Harry gulped. Yes, he wanted it. He wanted it so much he struggled to even _concentrate_. He couldn’t ignore it anymore. “Yeah, I think I do.”

Ron held his face. “This is lunacy,” he groaned.

“Oh, Harry,” Hermione said. She looked very concerned. “I know your divorce from Ginny was a shock to you, but are you sure this is the right choice? He’s old enough to be your father.”

“I want to see where it goes. It doesn’t need to be anything serious.” Even as he said it, Harry knew he wasn’t being honest. Whatever was happening between them already felt miles more serious than anything with other blokes. Their shared history was unavoidable. 

“We just want you to be happy,” Ron said, strained. He took a deep breath. “At first it was hard for me to accept the divorce, but I’m over it now. I want to support you no matter what, even if you decide that shagging . . . _him_ is what you want.”

Harry felt strangely emotional. “Thanks, mate.”

Hermione slid from her chair. “It’s time for us to go. We didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“I’m glad I was able to see you.” Harry helped them clean up and then followed them to the door. He hugged both of them; Hermione patted him on the cheek.

“Take care of yourself,” she said.

“I’ll try.” He smiled.

Ron opened his mouth, then closed it. He shook his head. “Just . . . protect yourself.”

“Like with a condom or—”

Ron grimaced. “I hate you.” Harry laughed.

When they were gone, Harry left the lounge in search of Snape. He wasn’t in the toilet or the kitchen; light streamed from a room at the end of the hallway. The room held all the random tokens Harry had found around the house.

Snape flipped through a photo album at a teetering desk. Harry leaned close to see the black and white photographs. He recognized his grandparents. “What do you remember about them?”

“Not much. It’s like looking at strangers.”

“Even for my mum?”

Snape sucked in breath. “Yes.”

Harry moved about the dusty room. He was nervous, but it was time they talked about it. “Ron and Hermione think you fancy me.”

There was a long pause. Snape stood and cleaned his hands with his wand. “What do you think?”

“It could be why you’ve taken a sudden interest in me.”

“ _Sudden?_ Ha!”

“You know what I mean.”

“There’ve been rumors for years, you know. One doesn’t need to read the rags to hear what _Harry Potter_ is up to.”

“Rumors and reality are two very different things.”

Snape came closer. He leaned on the wall, his arms crossed. He looked into Harry’s eyes. “Yes, but it seems like the rumors turned out to be true.”

Harry smiled. His heart was pounding. He was aroused. “Did you see me bring them home and wish it was you?”

“Yes,” Snape whispered.

“Is that why you mended my hand? Did you hope I would suck your cock?” He shuddered. He couldn’t believe he was saying this to _Professor Snape_.

“All I want is a chance to show you.” Snape reached out, hesitating. He ran his hand down Harry’s chest and then hooked a finger in his belt. “The years have made me naughty. They’ve made me confident. Let me show you how good I can make you feel.”

“How long have you wanted this?”

“You were an attractive student. I hated you for it. After the war, everywhere I looked I saw you. Sometimes it felt as if I was cursed. It felt as if I was cursed to desperately want with no reciprocation.”

“I’m grown now. I won’t be pushed around.”

Snape crowded him against the wall. He pinned Harry’s wrists. “Not even a little?”

Harry arched his back. He whined. “Kiss me, damn you.”

“Harry,” Snape whispered. He kissed his chin, then his cheek. After brief hesitation, he kissed his mouth. Harry moaned and tried to deepen the kiss.

Snape pulled away. He caressed his thumb under Harry’s chin. “No more young men,” he murmured. “I won’t do this if I’m not the only one.”

“No one but you,” Harry gasped, trying to pull him back into a kiss.

“Where’s your bedroom?” Snape asked.

Harry took his hand and led him up the creaking stairs. The bedroom was smaller than the others, random, but Harry liked the light from the window. Snape urged him down on the bed, and the duvet was cold. Snape cupped his face and kissed him hard. Harry moaned. It’d been a long time since he was kissed with such passion. 

Harry tried to pull off his stupid robes. Snape laughed and batted his hands away. He moved away to undress; Harry pounced when his bare chest was revealed. 

“Yes,” Harry whispered. He ran his hands over Snape’s warm skin; he teased his nipples with his tongue and thumbs. Snape gasped softly. Harry undid his trousers and slipped a hand into his pants. Snape was hard and already leaking. “You dirty man. Forcing those naughty images in my head when I was drunk and defenseless.”

“You started it.” Snape shuddered and thrust in his hand. “You were thinking about sucking me off. I saw it.”

“Did you think about it later?” Harry stroked him leisurely. “Did you wank to the thought of my wet mouth around your cock?”

“Fuck yes.”

“I bet you want it now. I’m desperate to taste you.” 

“Please.” Snape thrashed a little.

Harry eased off their remaining clothes. It was dark, but he paused to stare at Snape’s cock. It was bigger than he’d imagined. His mouth watered. God, he wanted Snape to fuck him. 

He licked the moisture from the tip. Snape moaned and clutched at the duvet. He smirked and kissed Snape’s trembling thighs. He dragged his mouth along Snape’s shaft. He massaged his bollocks.

“Please,” Snape said again. Harry sucked him all the way down, quickly. Snape jerked up, then fell back down. “Merlin!”

Encouraged, Harry bobbed his head; he sucked and slurped, loving the way Snape tasted. His eyelids fluttered. He could probably come from just this. He thrust into the bed. He gathered some drool and stroked Snape fast. 

Snape breathed harshly. He moaned. Harry couldn’t really see his face, but he imagined Snape’s eyes twisted closed, his mouth hanging open. Snape pulled him up by the shoulders. He kissed Harry desperately, moaning into his mouth.

“Let me fuck you,” Snape said.

“Show me what you’ve got.” Harry rolled to his back. Snape kissed down his body. He took Harry into his mouth. “God,” Harry said, and tried not to thrust too deeply. Snape whispered a spell and suddenly lube wet Harry’s thighs, his arse. Snape’s fingers found his hole. They massaged as Snape sucked Harry back into his mouth.

“Snape!”

Snape came up. “Say my first name.”

“Severus,” Harry sighed.

Snape penetrated him with a finger. Harry whined and arched into it. “More,” Harry said. Snape complied, watching his face, his eyes glittering. 

“Did those boys fuck you?”

Harry twisted. “Sometimes.”

Snape added a third finger and thrust hard. “What did you think about when you fucked them?”

 _What a question._ Harry gulped, trying to find his voice. “I thought about how my ex-wife hadn’t been enough. They weren’t enough either. I thought about how I was lost.”

Snape laughed lowly. “I bet you still came hard. I bet you still loved it.”

“God, get inside me.”

“If you insist.” Snape withdrew his fingers and got into position. “I want you to watch me as I enter you. Don’t look away.”

Harry nodded; he was pinned by Snape’s intense gaze. Snape slid into him, slowly, carefully. Harry’s mouth fell open. Snape’s face crumbled in pleasure.

“You’re so big,” Harry said, because it _hurt_. Snape was splitting him open. 

Snape trembled. He kissed Harry sloppily, breathing into his mouth. “Harry,” he whispered.

“Fuck me.” Harry clawed at his back. “I want you to fucking ruin me.”

Groaning deeply, Snape began to move in earnest. Their flesh smacked together. Harry’s eyes rolled. He could barely hang on. Snape grunted with each thrust.

Harry felt trapped. He felt like he would explode. His arse throbbed, his limbs itchy with sweat. Snape was everything he’d been missing. He felt like home. Harry pressed his face to his neck, breathing him in. _Yes, yes. Fuck me. Fuck me._

Snape pushed up his legs, now really drilling into him, his dark hair falling into his face. “Touch yourself.”

“Yeah,” Harry said, tugging himself fast. His toes curled. He was close.

“I want to see you come,” Snape panted. “I want to see you fucking paint your chest.”

“Severus.” Harry arched his back, a hot wave flowing through him. He was coming. He was beneath Snape and coming on his cock. Harry never wanted to leave.

“You’re gorgeous,” Snape said, and kissed Harry. He buried his face in his shoulder and fucked into him hard, almost violently. Harry grabbed his arse and urged him to go faster. Snape came with a shout, shuddering, moaning.

He collapsed against Harry. He kissed his neck, his shoulder. He murmured something that sounded like _thank you_.

Harry caressed his back. He laughed softly. “I can’t believe we did this.”

Snape pulled out and rolled over with a sigh. “Do you regret it?”

“Hell no!” Harry kissed him, their tongues brushing. “I want to do it again, and again.”

Snape leaned back to get a good look at Harry. “I don’t want to hide.”

“Me either.” He caressed Snape’s cheeks, his temple. He was excited about their beginning. Snape smiled at him.

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a comment here or at [Livejournal](https://snape-potter.livejournal.com/3809079.html), [Insanejournal](http://asylums.insanejournal.com/snape_potter/1744469.html), or [Dreamwidth](https://snape-potter.dreamwidth.org/1057500.html).


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